One, Two, Free, Four
by Linda-Nairika
Summary: The Real Ghostbusters before the days of their glory. Egon and Peter get puzzled, intrigued, annoyed, teased, tolerated... But first and foremost they get to know each other... It was written a while ago.
1. Chapter 1

**DISCLAIMER:** As to the RGB, I don't own anything but a piece of imagination and an ability to feel affection. None of those are extremely profitable in the financial sense. So I happily don't make any money of my activities in this field. **NOTES:** English is my second language, so there could be lots and lots of mistakes in the text; thanks to Sandy A., it avoided being grammatically and literary crippled in some places. 

A LESSON ON THE SKATING-RINK

The ice was good. They must have smoothed it out just this morning, and now there were only a few people, so it was almost intact – and tempting. Especially for a skater like myself – I hadn't been to the skating-rink in ages.

Okay, maybe… no, VERY PROBABLY, it was not the best idea for a BMOC-to-be. Skating had never rated highly, let alone… another thing I was about to disgrace myself with. But I figured it was not fatal – no frat rat would get up at nine o'clock in the morning – on Sunday! – to enjoy winter sports. Ha! I could hardly believe I had done it.

This kid… Nah, I was nuts, no doubt about it. I promised to teach him to skate! Why, for Pete's sake? Why did I choose yesterday to walk through the park instead of heading straight for the campus? Why did I happen to spot that boy? And there was definitely no reason for me to ask Teddy what was wrong…

If he isn't here in two minutes, I'll know for sure that I am a fool. Well, something valuable should come out of this whole mess, right?

I refused to have a look at my watch and let my eyes wander around. I was sitting on a bench across from the gate (to avoid missing him), and if I were here as a spectator, I couldn't have chosen a better position. Except for the tiny fact that there was nobody to look at. Almost nobody, but that guy. I mean I am really good at skating, and I am fast. Most of the skaters were not worth looking at. That guy was.

You'd think such a Daddy-Long-Legs couldn't be swift on the ice. All those physical factors, you know. Mistake. I am not a dwarf either, but he was at least five inches taller. And I suspected he'd beat me, if we raced; he moved as if he was wearing Mercury's shoes.

I caught myself wanting to try, nevertheless, - if only to make sure he also knows the feeling of wind. Football is fun, but it never gives you wings; you can't leave the ground, when there is a ball to look after, two dozen of people to play for or against and a crowd watching you like hawks.

"Hello!"

I glanced to the left and was rewarded with the sight of Teddy looking up at me expectantly.

"Hi, kid. Ready to become a champion?"

"Not yet", he answered seriously, and I suppressed a grin. Teddy was not ready for my sort of humor. And – honestly – who was?

… Have you ever dared to teach a child to skate? It was a first for me, and the result might be called a bit disheartening. The kid enjoyed himself enormously while I was pulling him after me, but all the attempts on his own were in vain. An hour later the most significant achievement of ours was him sliding two yards after my push without falling down at the finish. And the next try ended with Teddy landed on

all fours.

He hesitated for a moment, then turned over and sat down onto the ice miserably. I sighed and sat down beside him.

A movement on the right caught my eye.

"What's wrong with the boy? Do you require any assistance?"

Jeez! I knew that deep voice. My imagination immediately combined it with a lanky figure wearing glasses and suspenders – two details to describe our

Columbian genius. It was bad enough someone of ours saw me, but this geek of all people!.. I lifted my head and glared at Egon Spengler. To be more exact, I started glaring – and wound up gaping. That tall skater… was him?!

He looked at me for a second as well, then shook his head slightly and suddenly squatted beside Teddy, as if about to get the information from the most reliable source. "Scientists!" I thought gloomily.

"Hello! Have you injured yourself?"

A brilliant question to ask a seven-year-old, right? Wrong! Must be that voice, it sounded… I dunno… cosy… comfortable… trustworthy. To the kid, I mean!

"Just bruised, I think", Teddy answered, rubbing his knee. Then he added sadly, "I'll never manage it!"

"Nonsense!" "Garbage!" Spengler and I said in chorus, and I glared at him again. What did he want here?

Spengler pulled off his glove and touched Teddy's leg carefully.

"Is there any pain?"

Teddy shook his head.

"Then you had better get up. 'It's not too wise to sit on the ice'". Spengler looked at me briefly, but pointedly. What the hell! I stared back without

changing my position a bit, while Teddy took Spengler's hand and stood up.

The local genius reached down to shake the snow from the kid's pants.

"I didn't know you had an elder brother, Venkman", he said matter-of-factly.

I thought my jaw was going to drop and hit the ice. I couldn't remember who had ever left me speechless before. Whatever I would do after such a remark, it wouldn't change this fact in the slightest. And the ice WAS cold. So I got up.

Spengler was watching the process impassively.

"You were in the middle of the lesson there, weren't you?" he asked, addressing his question to no one in particular.

"Yes". Teddy was eager enough to answer, and I was just as eager to get Spengler as far from here as possible.

"I saw you both practicing, and I suppose you need a little theory as well."

"Okay, maybe you should give him the formula?" I snapped.

"It could prove to be helpful", Spengler answered tranquilly, turning to the kid. "Please forgive my manners - or lack of them. My name is Egon Spengler."

"Theodore Baxter. Glad to meetcha, sir." Teddy shook the outstretched hand solemnly. I would have sniffed at the procedure, but the kid looked pleased to be treated like an adult… And I remembered the impression I'd gotten of him yesterday: a boy sick and tired of being a pet-kitten of a big family.

"All the pleasure is mine", Spengler responded, squeezing the boy's hand gently. "Please, call me Egon".

"If you are finished with the formalities", I drawled, "what about a lesson from a master?"

The words sounded somewhat defensive even to my own ear, and I didn't like it. I didn't like it at all. And I liked it even less, when Teddy looked up at me with uncomprehending eyes…

"Of course, Master, proceed", Spengler nodded agreement. "I shall just clarify one detail for Theodore."

It was my turn to be at a loss. He was laughing at me a minute ago, and now he pretended not to have noticed my less than graceful retreat. He made it into MY joke – and a light one, to boot.

For the kid's sake, right?

I missed the explanation. It must have been really short… and effective. I don't know if he used diagrams and formulae, but Teddy seemed to have gotten something, indeed. Because the next thing I saw was the boy grabbing both my and Spengler's hands and driving us forward – or trying to, at least. We cooperated, and in a quarter of an hour Teddy released us to slide on his own – somewhat awkwardly, maybe, and not too fast yet, but he was skating!

I was horrified to find myself smiling from ear to ear and quickly exchanged that unsuitable expression for a smirk. A day of disasters, sure thing. Another one like it – and I'll need a shrink even before I become one myself.

I glanced at the guy standing beside me. He had a pile of evidences to ruin my reputation; he had interfered with my teaching methods; he had made me feel like an idiot…

He averted his eyes from the boy, pushed his glasses up and returned my stare with a slight curve of his mouth.

"Good-bye, Venkman", he said softly and headed for the gate.

"See you, Spengler", I replied automatically… and suddenly realized that I meant it.


	2. Interlude 1

INTERLUDE 1: A Curse of Irrationality

… I don't rely on intuition too often. I was raised to believe in logic and scientific method, and premonitions are not my general argument in any discussion, even if I am holding a dispute with myself. But there is no logical explanation for my initial impression of Peter Venkman. He did behave logically - for someone who was as full of himself as he looked, but sometimes a hypothesis seems flawless until it proves to be "too flawless", preternaturally flawless. There are no absolutes in the universe - and Peter's attitude was absolutely perfect. He acted like a perfect representative of Thackeray's 'Vanity Fair'.

Perfection is cruel to both its owner and those around him, and I had never seen that confirmed as thoroughly as in this particular case. I witnessed Peter enjoying popularity, but I doubted very much that it was what he truly needed. Any image demands maintenance, and if the one you are wearing doesn't fit you, it is… rather unpleasant. And Teddy provided me with the last fragment I required to make sure my conclusion had not been baseless.

I don't often indulge in irrationality, either. But it had been most irrational of me to become possessed with the idea of helping Peter to… relax, at least. I am not a psychologist, and I'll probably never become one because I certainly lack abilities to understand people adequately and to react accordingly. Sometimes I wonder if an individual can be deprived of such a gift - as the others are deprived of an ear for music…


	3. Chapter 2

DO YOU SPEAK SPENGLERIAN?

By Wednesday it had become clear that news of the events on the skating-rink hadn't crossed its borders. And I almost regretted it. There are few times when I hate being right, but this was one of them. I couldn't put it out of my head that I knew for sure he wouldn't tell anybody about my escapade. Of course, he was not too talkative and I doubted very much he would waste his valuable time speaking to anyone from fraternity, let alone the football team. So it would have been a sure bet anyway, wouldn't it?

Damn that Spengler!

Three days ago I would have happily sworn the guy didn't pay attention to anything in the world except his books and test tubes; I'd have bet he wouldn't recognize a joke, if it came and sat on his beaky nose - and I could definitely forget about him in a hot minute. Well, almost. He's kind of hard to ignore, despite being so quiet.

We had two classes and several seminars together, and I am neither blind nor deaf. All the professors got a bit nervous around him, though he never asked them any questions during the lectures. That was a pity; I had no doubt it would be fun. But they had to be really grateful for Spengler's silence. The seniors told legends about Egon's first semester at Columbia and his first – and last! - question…

Okay, he is smart, I have never denied it. But is it enough to make me wish… Hell! to make me wish we could talk?

The answer is no, that's a given. I had plenty of people to talk myself to death. And none of them would come up to Teddy and me. They would certainly know better than that.

Who cares?

The scary thing was, I didn't know why I even cared.

I thrust my fork into a piece of cucumber with more force than was strictly called for. The plate protested loudly, and I pushed it aside, fighting the sudden urge to do it again, on purpose.

"Try again," I heard an encouragement from behind, as if on clue. "Perhaps, you will actually pinpoint four intermolecular spaces this time."

I growled. Literally. Double damn him! Is he gonna haunt me? Maybe I should make a ghost out of him, so he'd be entitled.

"Well, well, well," I said with a serene smile, "aren't we honored!"

"Hardly." Spengler put his tray down on my table and took a seat.

"You know, this seat is taken," I notified him confidentially.

"That's obvious," he admitted. "By me."

I grunted in spite of myself. I was going to make a lousy psychologist. He never ceased to amaze me. From day one. "Sorry, I didn't notice at first.

"Never mind. You managed it on your second attempt," Spengler consoled.

Just who was making fun of whom here?!

"Will I get a medal?" I asked sarcastically.

"Hmm…" He studied the table for a moment, then he fished a cracker out of the pack and handed it to me. I took my award and tested it with a tooth.

"That wasn't gold," I announced indignantly, chewing the offending thing.

"Second attempt," Egon reminded, unabashed. "It was silver."

Damn, he was good. I mean, I like challenge, and by that time I knew for sure Egon would give me plenty. Maybe, more than I could handle. Wow!

"Can I contest this result?"

"No. Not before you win a skating-race." He arched an eyebrow questioningly.

The truth of the situation dawned just before I found myself about to nod eagerly. So much for my alertness.

Okay, I was horrified. So I struck.

"That desperate for a company, huh?" It could've sounded like a joke or good-natured taunt, but I packed plenty of disdain into it. And that's something I'm pretty good at.

Egon actually blinked. And for a fraction of a moment he looked not a day older than seven. An easy trick with those big blue eyes and long lashes. For some reason I felt like a jerk. Well, that wasn't a new sensation for me, was it? I put a glass with juice to my lips and sipped, wondering vaguely what this juice had been squeezed from. It was absolutely tasteless.

He recovered immediately - faster than anyone who had happened to find himself under Venkman's REAL fire.

"No, you don't seem desperate, rest assured," he replied dryly.

Again! Turning my own barbs against me, but not before the edge is poison free. He did it again, though I saw him ready to say something, which would, no doubt, have been dead on target… and unbearably so.

Spengler was a big "why" - in more ways than one. And - a rare thing! - I didn't want to know any of the reasons. Not now. Never, if I could help it.

I pushed my stool backwards and started to get up.

"Must you be fleeing… er… going already?"

Stunned, I fell back. Hell! I couldn't leave it at that. He was reading me like one of his books – the one he knew by heart! If I gonna become a psychologist, he must be psychic - already.

"Did they feed you with milk or acid, when you were a baby?" I asked sourly, taking his glass to pour over the shock.

"As a matter of fact, I was told my mother preferred a special formula."

I choked and sprayed the juice in a fountain which would've done a whale credit.

"Most impressive," Egon approved, handing me his handkerchief.

I glared at him, but not too vehemently. If looks could kill, he just would have been scratched a little.

"I'll make you pay for that," I promised, trying to clean the stains from my light green sweater.

"Do you mean your laundry bill?"

I raised my eyes to Egon's face, suppressing the urge to laugh and studying his blank expression, spoiled by the sparkles in the blue depths behind the glasses.

"No, dry cleaning."

He sighed and nodded, hiding his smile rather effectively behind the napkin pressed to his lips.

"Very well. You will have your property restored to its original condition. When shall we race?"

"Even you can't be THAT ignorant," I challenged. "I'm not exactly making a fashion statement in juice stains, here. I can't go to town like this."

"Vanitas vanitatum, Peter," Egon rebuked.

Jeez! Do you speak Spenglerian? I had a feeling I would be forced to learn.


	4. Interlude 2

INTERLUDE 2:"Will Anything Worthy Remain?"

… I wonder… They call me a genius - some are joking, the others are annoyingly serious. I know I am gifted when it comes to math, physics or chemistry… I speak nine languages. I can repair every apparatus and any kind of equipment I have come across. I even hope to be useful in the field of my professional and scientific activities I enjoy so much. So what? All the knowledge I could share with the others might be found in encyclopedias and dictionaries. Yes, the process of analyzing and synthesizing information is unique, but if a computer can check millions of combinations in a second, there is a high possibility that, sooner or later, it will come to the same chain of ideas and conclusions. That does not mean I consider a human brain (mine included) less valuable. Quite the contrary. I just do not think anyone ought to be satisfied with themselves, if their mind is their only virtue. Certainly, my father would call it an unnecessary sentimental and highly unprofessional thought. In his opinion, the only thing in existence worth being satisfied with is the scientific achievement that is the product of intellectual work. He never approved playing the piano, for instance. Yet I think it was a lapse of judgment, all things considered. On the other hand, the last time he was satisfied with me was when I invented that microwave reproductor at the age of ten, though that was not my last invention. The fact that my next project was accompanied by a number of miniature explosions has something to do with this, I suspect. Well, I'd never have supposed such a tiny inconvenience would have made my father lose his temper… But it's understandable. He deals with theories while Uncle Cyrus conducts experiments, based on them. And I… mmm… introduced him to that line of work

just in his own home.

But it only confirms my thought. I never understand anyone's actions, even my parents', I can't feel other people's needs, I don't see the right way to help, I am not able to be a friend… When I was twelve, I couldn't understand why nobody wanted to be friends with me. Now I know. I just have nothing to offer. I hadn't then, I don't have now. Hopefully I am mature enough to face the truth and to accept it. To Peter I must look like a winged hippopotamus with all the habits of an annoying fly. The consequences of that undeniable situation are predictable. But I choose my tasks myself, so I am responsible for the outcome.

Still, reduce my intellectual abilities to the middling, will anything worthy remain?..


End file.
